Thomas Godfrey (Ed) (17 page)

Well, it is about
nine-thirty when Ooky comes in, and his puppies are aching, and he is all
petered out generally from walking up and down and here and there with his
sign, for any time a guy is Santa Claus for Moe Lewinsky he must earn his
dough. In fact, Ooky is so fatigued, and his puppies hurt him so much that
Dancing Dan and Good Time Charley and I all feel very sorry for him, and invite
him to have a few mugs of hot Tom and Jerry with us, and wish him plenty of
Merry Christmas.

But old Ooky is not
accustomed to Tom and Jerry and after about the fifth mug he folds up in a
chair, and goes right to sleep on us. He is wearing a pretty good Santa Claus
make-up, what with a nice red suit trimmed with white cotton, and a wig, and
false nose, and long white whiskers, and a big sack stuffed with excelsior on
his back, and if I do not know Santa Claus is not apt to be such a guy as will
snore loud enough to rattle the windows, I will think Ooky is Santa Claus sure
enough.

Well, we forget Ooky and
let him sleep, and go on with our hot Tom and Jerry, and in the meantime we try
to think up a few songs appropriate to Christmas, and Dancing Dan finally
renders My Dad’s Dinner Pail in a nice baritone and very loud, while I do first
rate with Will You Love Me in December As You Do in May?

About midnight Dancing
Dan wishes to see how he looks as Santa Claus.

So Good Time Charley and
I help Dancing Dan pull off Ooky’s outfit and put it on Dan, and this is easy
as Ooky only has this Santa Claus outfit on over his ordinary clothes, and he
does not even wake up when we are undressing him of the Santa Claus uniform.

Well, I wish to say I see
many a Santa Claus in my time, but I never see a better looking Santa Claus
than Dancing Dan, especially after he gets the wig and white whiskers fixed
just right, and we put a sofa pillow that Good Time Charley happens to have
around the joint for the cat to sleep on down his pants to give Dancing Dan a
nice fat stomach such as Santa Claus is bound to have.

“Well,” Charley finally
says, “it is a great pity we do not know where there are some stockings hung up
somewhere, because then,” he says, “you can go around and stuff things in these
stockings, as I always hear this is the main idea of a Santa Claus. But,” Charley
says, “I do not suppose anybody in this section has any stockings hung up, or
if they have,” he says, “the chances are they are so full of holes they will
not hold anything. Anyway,” Charley says, “even if there are any stockings hung
up we do not have anything to stuff in them, although personally,” he says, “I
will gladly donate a few pints of Scotch.”

Well, I am pointing out
that we have no reindeer and that a Santa Claus is bound to look like a
terrible sap if he goes around without any reindeer, but Charley’s remarks seem
to give Dancing Dan an idea, for all of a sudden he speaks as follows:

“Why,” Dancing Dan says, “I
know where a stocking is hung up. It is hung up at Miss Muriel O’Neill’s flat
over here in West Forty-ninth Street. This stocking is hung up by nobody but a
party by the name of Gammer O’Neill, who is Miss Muriel O’Neill’s grandmamma,” Dancing
Dan says. “Gammer O’Neill is going on ninety-odd,” he says, “and Miss Muriel O’Neill
tells me she cannot hold out much longer, what with one thing and another,
including being a little childish in spots.”

“Now,” Dancing Dan says, “I
remember Miss Muriel O’Neill is telling me just the other night how Gammer O’Neill
hangs up her stocking on Christmas Eve all her life, and,” he says, “I judge
from what Miss Muriel O’Neill says that the old doll always believes Santa
Claus will come along some Christmas and fill the stocking full of beautiful
gifts. But,” Dancing Dan says, “Miss Muriel O’Neill tells me Santa Claus never
does this, although Miss Muriel O’Neill personally always takes a few gifts
home and pops them into the stocking to make Gammer O’Neill feel better.”

“But, of course,” Dancing
Dan says, “these gifts are nothing much because Miss Muriel O’Neill is very
poor, and proud, and also good, and will not take a dime off of anybody and I
can lick the guy who says she will.”

“Now,” Dancing Dan goes
on, “it seems that while Gammer O’Neill is very happy to get whatever she finds
in her stocking on Christmas morning, she does not understand why Santa Claus
is not more liberal, and,” he says, “Miss Muriel O’Neill is saying to me that
she only wishes she can give Gammer O’Neill one real big Christmas before the
old doll puts her checks back in the rack.”

“So,” Dancing Dan states,
“here is a job for us. Miss Muriel O’Neill and her grandmamma live all alone in
this flat over in West Forty-ninth Street, and,” he says, “at such an hour as
this Miss Muriel O’Neill is bound to be working, and the chances are Gammer O’Neill
is sound asleep, and we will just hop over there and Santa Claus will fill up
her stocking with beautiful gifts.”

Well, I say, I do not see
where we are going to get any beautiful gifts at this time of night, what with
all the stores being closed, unless we dash into an all-night drug store and
buy a few bottles of perfume and a bum toilet set as guys always do when they
forget about their ever-loving wives until after store hours on Christmas Eve,
but Dancing Dan says never mind about this, but let us have a few more Tom and
Jerrys first.

So we have a few more Tom
and Jerrys and then Dancing Dan picks up the package he heaves into the corner,
and dumps most of the excelsior out of Ooky’s Santa Claus sack, and puts the
bundle in, and Good Time Charley turns out all the lights, but one, and leaves
a bottle of Scotch on the table in front of Ooky for a Christmas gift, and away
we go.

Personally, I regret very
much leaving the hot Tom and Jerry, but then I am also very enthusiastic about
going along to help Dancing Dan play Santa Claus, while Good Time Charley is
practically overjoyed, as it is the first time in his life Charley is ever
mixed up in so much holiday spirit.

As we go up Broadway,
headed for Forty-ninth Street, Charley and I see many citizens we know and give
them a large hello, and wish them Merry Christmas, and some of these citizens
shake hands with Santa Claus, not knowing he is nobody but Dancing Dan,
although later I understand there is some gossip among these citizens because
they claim a Santa Claus with such a breath on him as our Santa Claus has is a
little out of line.

And once we are somewhat
embarrassed when a lot of little kids going home with their parents from a late
Christmas party somewhere gather about Santa Claus with shouts of childish
glee, and some of them wish to climb up Santa Claus’ legs. Naturally, Santa
Claus gets a little peevish, and calls them a few names, and one of the parents
comes up and wishes to know what is the idea of Santa Claus using such
language, and Santa Claus takes a punch at the parent, all of which is no doubt
astonishing to the little kids who have an idea of Santa Claus as a very kindly
old guy.

Well, finally we arrive
in front of the place where Dancing Dan says Miss Muriel O’Neill and her
grandmamma live, and it is nothing but a tenement house not far back of Madison
Square Garden, and furthermore it is a walk-up, and at this time there are no
lights burning in the joint except a gas jet in the main hall, and by the light
of this jet we look at the names on the letter boxes, such as you always find
in the hall of these joints, and we see that Miss Muriel O’Neill and her
grandmamma live on the fifth floor.

This is the top floor,
and personally I do not like the idea of walking up five flights of stairs, and
I am willing to let Dancing Dan and Good Time Charley go, but Dancing Dan
insists we must all go, and finally I agree with him because Charley is
commencing to argue that the right way for us to do is to get on the roof and
let Santa Claus go down a chimney, and is making so much noise I am afraid he
will wake somebody up.

So up the stairs we climb
and finally we come to a door on the top floor that has a little card in a slot
that says O’Neill, so we know we reach our destination. Dancing Dan first tries
the knob, and right away the door opens, and we are in a little two-or
three-room flat, with not much furniture in it, and what furniture there is, is
very poor. One single gas jet is burning near a bed in a room just off the one
the door opens into, and by this light we see a very old doll is sleeping on
the bed, so we judge this is nobody but Gammer O’Neill.

On her face is a large
smile, as if she is dreaming of something very pleasant. On a chair at the head
of the bed is hung a long black stocking, and it seems to be such a stocking as
is often patched and mended, so I can see that what Miss Muriel O’Neill tells
Dancing Dan about her grandmamma hanging up her stocking is really true,
although up to this time I have my doubts.

Finally Dancing Dan
unslings the sack on his back, and takes out his package, and unties this
package, and all of a sudden out pops a raft of big diamond bracelets, and
diamond rings, and diamond brooches, and diamond necklaces, and I do not know
what else in the way of diamonds, and Dancing Dan and I begin stuffing these
diamonds into the stocking and Good Time Charley pitches in and helps us.

There are enough diamonds
to fill the stocking to the muzzle, and it is no small stocking, at that, and I
judge that Gammer O’Neill has a pretty fair set of bunting sticks when she is
young. In fact, there are so many diamonds that we have enough left over to
make a nice little pile on the chair after we fill the stocking plumb up,
leaving a nice diamond-studded vanity case sticking out the top where we figure
it will hit Gammer O’Neill’s eye when she wakes up.

And it is not until I get
out in the fresh air again that all of a sudden I remember seeing large
headlines in the afternoon papers about a five-hundred-G’s stickup in the
afternoon of one of the biggest diamond merchants in Maiden Lane while he is
sitting in his office, and I also recall once hearing rumors that Dancing Dan
is one of the best lone-hand git-’em-up guys in the world.

Naturally, I commence to
wonder if I am in the proper company when I am with Dancing Dan, even if he is
Santa Claus. So I leave him on the next corner arguing with Good Time Charley
about whether they ought to go and find some more presents somewhere, and look
for other stockings to stuff, and I hasten on home and go to bed.

The next day I find I have
such a noggin that I do not care to stir around, and in fact I do not stir
around much for a couple of weeks.

Then one night I drop
around to Good Time Charley’s little speakeasy, and ask Charley what is doing.

“Well,” Charley says, “many
things are doing, and personally,” he says, “I’m greatly surprised I do not see
you at Gammer O’Neill’s wake. You know Gammer O’Neill leaves this wicked old
world a couple of days after Christmas,” Good Time Charley says, “and,” he
says, “Miss Muriel O’Neill states that Doc Moggs claims it is at least a day
after she is entitled to go, but she is sustained,” Charley says, “by great
happiness in finding her stocking filled with beautiful gifts on Christmas
morning.”

“According to Miss Muriel
O’Neill,” Charley says, “Gammer O’Neill dies practically convinced that there
is a Santa Claus, although of course,” he says, “Miss Muriel O’Neill does not
tell her the real owner of the gifts, an all-right guy by the name of Shapiro,
leaves the gifts with her after Miss Muriel O’Neill notifies him of finding of
same.”

“It seems,” Charley says,
“this Shapiro is a tender-hearted guy, who is willing to help keep Gammer O’Neill
with us a little longer when Doc Moggs says leaving the gifts with her will do
it.”

“So,” Charley says, “everything
is quite all right, as the coppers cannot figure anything except that maybe the
rascal who takes the gifts from Shapiro gets conscience-stricken, and leaves
them the first place he can, and Miss Muriel O’Neill receives a ten-G’s reward
for finding the gifts and returning them. And,” Charley says, “I hear Dancing
Dan is in San Francisco and is figuring on reforming and becoming a dancing
teacher, so he can marry Miss Muriel O’Neill, and of course,” he says, “we all
hope and trust she never learns any details of Dancing Dan’s career.”

Well, it is Christmas Eve
a year later that I run into a guy by the name of Shotgun Sam, who is mobbed up
with Heine Schmitz in Harlem, and who is a very, very obnoxious character
indeed.

“Well, well, well,” Shotgun
says, “the last time I see you is another Christmas Eve like this, and you are
coming out of Good Time Charley’s joint, and,” he says, “you certainly have
your pots on.”

“Well, Shotgun,” I says, “I
am sorry you get such a wrong impression of me, but the truth is,” I say, “on
the occasion you speak of, I am suffering from a dizzy feeling in my head.”

“It is all right with me,”
Shotgun says. “I have a tip this guy Dancing Dan is in Good Time Charley’s the
night I see you, and Mockie Morgan, and Gunner Jack and me are casing the
joint, because,” he says, “Heine Schmitz is all sored up at Dan over some doll,
although of course,” Shotgun says, “it is all right now, as Heine has another
doll.”